


What Lies Beneath

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Dead Scott McCall, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Kidnapped Stiles, Knotting, M/M, Non-Consensual, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ahhh, Stiles."</p><p>Fuck. Fuckity McFuckerson, this was not what he wanted. "Alpha."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spitshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/gifts).



He had been reluctant to start.

Well. Reluctant, as a word, was... It was a lie, okay, because that was the thing about Stiles Stilinski. If he had to, he'd lie to himself to keep himself going. He'd lie and lie and lie, and that was kind of how life went these days.

He lied a lot.

He lied and lied and lied, because if he didn't, then he would have to admit things that would leave him wanting to slit his wrists straight up to his elbow, and he wasn't there yet.

Just. He wasn't there yet.

Scott had kind of been the Miss Mary Sunshine in his life -- eternal optimism and all that jazz. So, Scott was gone now because Scott made bad choices (like Bad Choices bad, not just bad choices bad), so Stiles had to hang on to something, right? It wasn't like _he'd_ made bad choices.

He kind of hadn't had any choices to make. Well, other than _no thanks, I'd just as soon you didn't bite me, you creepy pervert Alpha werewolf,_ and it was obvious where that had gotten him.

He was starting to think that taking the bite might be a good idea given that Peter had a pack and they all eyed his human with hunger. Luckily for him Peter wasn't the sharing kind... at least not where Stiles was concerned. The offer of the Bite still came up, even, but Stiles wasn't stupid. If he turned, he'd be able to take a hell of a lot more abuse, and while Peter didn't share, he wasn't always... careful.

Careful with his fragile, exotic strange little too smart human, and rough with everyone else. Stiles was going to milk that a little longer and keep hoping one of the locals iced Peter in the meantime. Maybe he'd even get lucky and it'd be his dad.

God, he missed his dad. Missed him so much it made him sick, wondered if he was eating okay, wondered... just wondered. Stiles had never thought he'd miss school, either, but school was infinitely preferable to sex slave, and he was pretty sure he'd never miss this. So long as he survived it.

He kept his eyes on the prize, which was staying alive because outside of it all there had to be a way out. He was smart, and one day he'd find it and take that way.

It was just about being ready.

He half hoped that the Kitsune Peter had picked up would do it. God knows Derek had disappeared somewhere along the way. Funny how Stiles had thought he was so badass once upon a time.

"Ahhh, Stiles."

Fuck. Fuckity McFuckerson, this was not what he wanted. "Alpha."

Badass was all relative, and he was betting on the fox girl just then.  "Stiles. How have you been on this fine day?"

Bored. Frustrated. Angry. The usual. "I need new books. Or, hey, how about a field trip? That would be awesome." Anything would be better than being stuck under the skeletal ruins of a house. He'd never thought a lack of sunshine would be a problem for him.

"Hmn, hmn, and where would you like to go on this field trip?" He loitered in the doorway, arms crossed, expression smug.

"How about _somewhere not underground_?" His voice was grinding, and Stiles reached up, shoved a hand into the mess of his hair. God, what he'd do for a pair of clippers, but Peter liked something to hold onto.

Peter pushed away from the doorway, smiling at him with teeth and a gleam in his eyes. "You want to be outside more, hmn? Free and running in the woods?"

Oh. That. That was dangerous. God help him, but he recognized danger now with a lot less of a hint than that was giving him. "Vitamin D. Maybe somebody could just pick up a bottle. Probably better than skin cancer, anyway."

Peter edged in closer, reaching out to caress his jaw. "I've left you alone, too much time with your thoughts."

Aw, hell. Hell, and there was no bracing for whatever came next because it could literally be anything. "It's been weeks. Pretty sure you've figured out it takes seconds for me to be off on a tang... ngh!"

The slap hit hard, jerked his head sideways and took him off balance in a way that made Peter grin, all teeth. "Are you going to earn your outing?"

Reaching up, Stiles rubbed the back of his wrist against the corner of his mouth, the trickle of blood there something he had long since managed to accustom himself to seeing. Peter didn't seem to understand exactly how much or little bleeding was dangerous, so he mostly kept it to bruising and minor trickles. "Would it help if I said I really am willing to settle for a bottle of vitamin D?"

"No," Peter drawled. "Entertain me. Let's think about what you should do to continue being my stress relief."

Oh. Oh, shit. No, no, he did not want to be entertainment, that only led to very bad things. All the bad things. "Please, Alpha." His molars ground together, but it was better to beg than to... It was just better to beg.

"Say it again." Peter's voice fell softer, compelling. "Again."

"Please. Alpha." Eyes to the ground, even as Peter reached out and pushed a thumb against his lip, pressing hard against the split so that he couldn't help but whimper. "Please. Alpha."

"I think I will." He smiled, a slow, easy gesture, and let his fingers idle back to the edge of his jaw. "Kneel."

It was a bad idea, but Stiles let his eyes close for just a moment. Just a fraction of a second as he dropped to his knees, slow, steady, easy, because he might be there a while, and there was no point in bruised knees if he could avoid it. By the time he made it, he was looking up again, and yeah, there might be a little bit of death in his eyes, but mostly he was sure... Okay, no, he was shit at hiding it, but Peter seemed to enjoy it anyway.

Peter liked him miserable and angry just like he liked to manhandle him. "Beautiful. Undo my pants."

Yeah, with his fucking teeth, Stiles knew, and he leaned in, got hold of the tab on the zipper, and tugged, slow and easy. Getting the button would be impossible, and yeah. He knew that, but Peter did, too. It was just another excuse. He worked at it with his tongue for a while, long enough to make it slippery and holy shit it worked for once. It was almost like luck was with him, except he knew better. Holy fuck, did he know better, and it wasn't surprising when Peter pushed him back and slapped him again, not hard enough to fuck him up, but hard enough to get his attention. "Ngh!"

"That's enough. Use your hands now." He didn't have to be told directly what to do, he knew. Knew to reach up, get his fingers wrapped around Peter's dick, and stroke, slow. Easy. Gentle, because while Peter loved to get rough with him, that was always his call, never Stiles's.

Stiles was supposed to be soft, soft and serve him, and Peter controlled the violence to his liking. He waited, let Stiles lean in to lick him before he moved his hips at all. Yeah. He knew how that was supposed to go, and so Stiles took him in his mouth, and moved his hands to clasp them at the small of his back, tilted his head, and was damned careful to keep his lips covering his teeth.

And then Peter started to thrust. Hard, fast, jarring him and making his mouth sloppy with spit, and Stiles knew he'd be gagging on dick soon. Knew it, and was sometimes complete shit at managing not to choke, but then... that just gave Peter an excuse.

Not that he needed one. Not that Stiles could do anything but try to let him in, try to open his throat and take it, even when Peter was rough, even when there were tears streaming down his face in reaction to the gagging.

If he gagged all over Peter's dick, he'd regret it, and Peter would make him regret it, so he focused on breathing, on swallowing, and not the little choking noises. Not the way Peter kept pushing, or the way the tears streamed down his face, dripping from his jaw. None of that, just. Just taking it, and then there were fingers on his face, thumbs rubbing at the hinges of his jaws, and oh god.

He gagged, vicious and deep in his throat, and Peter backed off at the last minute, gave him room to gasp and swallow, mouth dripping saliva. "God, I hate you." Somehow he managed to sputter it, and managed not to puke, too. That wasn't always the case.

"You could learn to love me if you took the bite. You could learn to love it all..." Peter leaned in, slapped his cock on Stiles's cheeks.

"I'd just rip your throat out. With my teeth." Stiles had no compunction whatsoever about saying so, either. He wasn't gonna be willing. He was never going to ask.

Not ever.

"You don't have the strength," Peter smirked, putting a hand in Stiles's hair, and pulling to tilt his head back.

As a human, that was true. As a wolf.... Stiles knew he'd find the strength. He wasn't like Scott. He wouldn't turn the other cheek. He wasn't like Derek.

Running just wasn't in him.

"Stand up, and bend over the bed." Peter seemed to have an idea or a whim. They were often the same.

Fuck, he didn't want to do that. Didn't want to do a lot of things, but Stiles pulled himself to standing and watched Peter for a long moment, jaw clenched. "Fine." Fine, because this was always ending there, right? Might as well get it over with, so he licked his lower lip, the taste of blood thick and cloying, lingering, and he stretched his jaw slowly before turning away from Peter, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

He wondered what Peter was getting out of it that he had to have, that he wanted so fucking badly that he couldn't get it some other way. Peter could have had adoring hatesex with anyone who'd ever struck up a conversation with him. What the fuck made Stiles so goddamned special? That was the question. He didn't dare ask it, either, because no. Just. It was better to think about it while Peter nailed him to the bed than it was to ask and risk getting an answer.

"One day I'll let you wear pants again," Peter mused out loud. "I'm getting bored with seeing your adorable little balls all the time."

What the fuck. What the _fuck_. "You're a fucking asshole, I get it, can we get this over with now?"

"No, no, they're cute." Peter grinned wildly, he could hear it in his fucking voice, and then he felt fingers pawing at him. Best Stiles could do was grunt, his own hands curling into fists as Peter stroked his hands over parts that honestly made Stiles want to scream.

It was almost a relief when Peter started to play with his asshole, because he knew what was going to happen, and where it was going now. He could close his eyes and do his damnedest to pretend that it wasn't happening, that he wasn't enjoying it, that he didn't want it, even if he knew it was a lie. Peter was a sick fuck, and he enjoyed it best when Stiles liked it despite himself, so things were always slick, rough, and aimed at every pleasure center he could manage to touch.

"Mmm, yeah. Yeah..." Peter pushed a finger in slowly, sloppy and slick when he added lube, and fuck but he wanted to protest. Wanted to say words like _no_ and _fuck no_ and worse, but Stiles knew where words like that went. Knew, and then that finger crooked, and Stiles's mouth dropped open on a moan that he couldn't stop, because fuuuuuuck. Fuck.

Yes.

"I've felt needy all day. Deeply needy, and it's a full moon. I've wanted to bite into this ass of yours all day..." All day, all day like it was such a hardship to go eight hours without getting his rocks off. Like Stiles even had a bitable ass, ha. He was a skinny, pale, sarcastic asshole.

Then again, that obviously didn't bother Peter. Not much seemed to, because he was sliding another finger into Stiles, and he couldn't help the way he spread his knees and moaned. God, that was so good. Peter was good at sex, and that was the other crazy part, that he could've just asked and tried hard because the sex was just that good, once Stiles overlooked that it was fucking rape and he was a hostage and all his friends were dead. Minor things to crazyman Peter.

Alpha Peter.

Alpha Peter who made him want to scream in bad ways and in good because he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop responding, and yeah. Yeah, yes, oh, god, yes. "Fuck. Fuck, oh my god."

"There we go. Are you ready for more?" He wanted Stiles begging and squirming before he fucked him, and would get him there with fingers and his mouth if he had to.

No. No, no, he shook his head, no, but the answer was actually yes. All the yes, and there went another finger, making him clench around them. "No. God. I hate you. I.. ugh, Jesus, fuck, I..."

"You hate me and you love this. And you sleep like a baby every night, Stiles. And some day you'll take the bite and serve at my side, finally..." For someone who didn't give a fuck about consent he sure cared about Stiles asking for the bite.

He couldn't stop the sharp bark of a laugh he gave. "Yeah? Yeah, you think I'd serve? You think I'd bow downnnngh. Jesus fucking...." Oh god, that was so good. "You think I wouldn't...."

"Bow your back and spread your legs for me?" Peter growled, leaning in to kiss the back of his neck as he slid out those three fingers. Which was exactly what he did, because yeah. Yeah, that was what Peter wanted him to do, and for now, that was what he'd get because Stiles wanted fucking. Stiles wanted to feel the push of Peter's dick, the burn of it, the heavy stretch, and he knew Peter would give it to him. Fuck, yeah.

At least once a day, every day, he got off really good. He remembered a world before and outside of that, but it felt so damn long ago, and Peter was here and now, and slowly positioning his cock to shove in, because that was what he did. He made sure Stiles knew he'd been fucked, and he turned his head to the side, opened his mouth to speak. All he managed to get out was a strangled sob because Peter was predictable. He loved to hear it, loved to know he had gotten deep into Stiles in as many ways as possible, and Jesus fucking Christ, but his dick was big. If anyone had told him six months ago, a year ago, that this was something he'd love as much as he did, he would have denied it. He'd have said it was a lie.

God, it felt amazing. The slow steady push, the way Peter's fingers flexed on his hips while he kept pushing in until his hips met Stiles's ass, deep and hard. He couldn't help whimpering, the way that his hands clenched in the sheets. "God, I hate you." It was mewled, soft, barely audible. "Jesus. Oh, god."

"I can't hear you. Was that 'oh, deeper, daddy'?" He pushed in harder, pulling out and thrusting back in wildly.

Oh fuck NO. No, and Stiles went wild beneath him, all snarls and fighting until Peter pinned him down, hard. It left him panting for breath, but still angry, shaking with it. "Fuck you, Peter."

Peter reached out, sliding fingers into Stiles's hair, and pulled his head back firmly. "I think you forget who's in what position. Let me remind you."

That was when he knew it as all going to hell. Knew it, and wasn't surprised when Peter set up a bruising piston-like thrust and withdrawal that left Stiles sobbing loudly because it was. It was. Oh, god. So much, too much, all hurt and pleasure in combination, and he hated that he loved this so damned much. That it made his legs shake wildly and he could hardly stay steady where he was bent over the mattress while Peter fucked him to pieces. He finally let go of his hair, and started to slap his ass, until Stiles did collapse forward, too many sensations at once.

He couldn't even manage to get out words -- it was all grunting moans, wordless pleas, the amazing way his dick brushed against the side of the mattress, the way his thighs just above his knees were bruising against the cheap metal frame of the thing. Stiles honestly wasn't sure Peter had ever fucked him this hard, and he wondered wildly if he might not just fuck his way straight through him.

It would almost be a relief, in a way, but there was no relief coming for him, not sex, not personal. There was just sensation, and trying to get enough to come.

"I know what you're doing." Sing-song, taunting. God. Of course he did. Of fucking course, because Peter liked to think he knew everything, and when he reached down a hand and wrapped it around Stiles's hip, he pulled him back and away from the bed so that Stiles cursed him viciously. "Not until I say so."

Not until he begged for it, until he was crying and pleading for it. Until it was an overwhelming need, to get touch, any touch, against his dick.

"God, I hate you. I am going to...."

Oh.

Oh, what the fuck.

"What the."

"Feel that?" Peter chuckled, and pushed in harder, an extra thicker Stiles didn't know what pushing into his ass past the already stretched barrier that Peter was stuffing.

"What are you doing!?" Yeah, he was panicking. Hell yes he was, and ow. Ow, that. That was. "What is that, what are you, that hurts, you fucker!"

"That's all me, babe. I'm in rut, and I'm going to make you my bitch." He was almost humming, almost singing when he said it, rocking his hips back and forth excitedly.

"What the.. No. No. No!" No, and he was desperately gasping for breath because Peter was fucking into him with a diligence that he honestly would love if his ass wasn't reluctantly giving way to the push, and Stiles couldn't help sobbing. "No. Nooooo."

It seemed to make him more excited, more interested in fucking Stiles to shreds, pushing until Stiles swore there was a pop noise, and it was in. He couldn't even scream at first because it stole his breath, and even when he got it back, all he could do was sob. "Nn. Nn oh god. No. Noooo."

"Shame you're not a woman." The commentary seemed disconnected, but Peter was making tiny sharp thrusts inside him now, not pulling all the way out, a rocking that made Stiles whine. Whine because it hurt, because he kept changing the way he moved, shifting the angle, and Stiles's face was wet with tears and sweat. He was breathing heavily and shivering, and then Peter moved in just the right way, and Stiles couldn't help the way he cried out, the way he shuddered sharply in response.

The way he gave Peter everything he was looking for in reaction, the way he folded for Peter because he was taking too much and Peter had a dick like a wolf and oh god. He was going to hell, because that was what happened when people did things like this, they went to hell in a hand basket, and Peter's hand wrapped around Stiles's cock and started to stroke. He tilted his hips up, pushed back to Peter while he twisted and twitched and gave shallow tiny rocking thrusts. Those motions were enough, just enough, to make him want... so much. God, he wanted, and Peter was giving it to him, one hand stroking his dick, one hand reaching up to stroke his hair even as Peter buried his face against the left side of his neck.

He felt the faint brush of teeth, the threat, the promise, as Peter jerked him off with speed and pressure, and he was so fucking close. He didn't know if that would be good or bad, too much or not enough. He was so damned full, and he ached, whimpering under his breath, but god he wanted to come, and...

And he felt the rough scrape of teeth against his skin, biting, clenching, clutching at his neck, sharp pain and a hand clutched tight to his dick. It made him yelp, shrill, sharp (not a scream, god, not a scream), but he came anyway, shuddering through orgasm with a bizarre desperation that was beyond understanding.

When he was done, slouching on the bed, he could smell blood, and Peter was licking at his neck, dick still buried in him. "What the fuck did you do!?" If he sounded hysterical, it was only to be expected. The fucker _bit him_.

"You were overdue for that. Honestly, you thought I was going to let you stay human forever? With your brains?" Peter chuckled.

Oh god. Oh, god. "Yeah? What makes you so sure it won't kill me?" Oh, god. Oh, god. 

"You smell right to me. I wasn't sure, so I waited and waited, but you smell so right to me." He wiggled his hips, dick still deep in Stiles. It was an aching throb, and he was still shuddering, still wanting, and he was going to hell.

He was so going to hell.

"So, what? You gonna keep me chained up in your basement instead of roaming around it?" If there was a hint of snarl to that, well.

"No. You'll be part of my pack, free to roam, free to respond to the call of your alpha."

Which also meant he'd be free to plot against his alpha. "Free to come when you want to fuck. And h-how am I s-supposed..." Ngh. God. He was gonna come again. Fuck, because just... fuck.

"How are you supposed to?" Peter wiggled, deliberately, and sighed hard. "You're so tight."

"E... explain... could you just get me off again?" Stiles finally snapped.

"Be creative. You ran away from home," Peter suggested, still wiggling his hips.

"Mmm. My... oh, geeze. Geeze, oh, that's..." Good. Good, and Stiles arched his back, slid his feet back over Peter's calves and pulled himself more tightly against him. "Unh."

The delighted chuckle went right through his spine. "Yeah, baby... Maybe you ran away from home for good dick." And god, it was good, no matter how much he hated Peter. It was so good, and he didn't bother reaching for his own dick, just tightened as much as he could around Peter's, sounds that were nothing more than pleasure-filled whines and moans and sobs spilling from his mouth.

It lasted forever, until Peter's dick went soft and his neck stopped bleeding on the mattress. "Christ."

"I hate you." Yeah. Yeah, but at that point, he'd said it so often that Stiles wasn't even sure it meant anything. "God, you psycho."

Peter gave a sing song hum of assent, and pulled his dick out of Stiles. Stiles was pretty sure he imagined the popping sound. "Sleep this off and start over in the morning."

Pretty sure he imagined it. Almost ninety percent certain, say, and he was surprised when Peter manhandled him into the bed and curled up behind him. He wanted to say something, wanted to dredge up some smartass remark, but his entire being was so pulled down with exhaustion that the best he could do was let out a low, unsteady sigh and relax, melting into the mattress.

There would be plenty of time to plot when he woke.


End file.
